


The Writer

by QueenVee1



Category: Ant-Man - Fandom, Captain America, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers, Thor (Movies), the winter soldier - Fandom
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-20
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:01:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26017705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenVee1/pseuds/QueenVee1
Summary: Darcy Lewis finds a temp job with S.H.I.E.L.D. until she can work with Jane again. Data entry and organizing aren’t her favorite things, but she sucks it up. When she finds out the Avengers have a Fan Club and an email account with hundreds of unread letters, she figures no one will care if shepretendsto be the Avengers, right?Right?!
Comments: 112
Kudos: 200
Collections: Fics I loved





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

>   
>   
> Hello friends, both new and old!  
> It’s been heartening to hear that my attempt at uplifting author’s notes have been a success.  
> I _just_ finished by first original novel ( _Eeeeeee!_ ), and am neck-deep in editing, but I wanted to find a way to keep posting the notes and giving back to my readers.  
> As such: **Voila!**  
>  My ultimate goal is to update weekly, even if it’s just a few sentences replying to one ‘fan letter,’ but I also feel like this could easily turn into a full fic. Eventually. Maybe. Hopefully.  
> We’re in the middle of a pandemic ( _ **GAAHHHH!!!**_ ), and I think we could all use a little silver lining right now.

_“... Elvis, do you want a cookie?”_

The growling response from the Siamese feline sounded in Darcy Lewis’ ear, signaling the end of her favorite podcast. She lifted her coffee to her lips as she walked down the silent hallway, mind already overwhelmed by the task ahead of her. The door she was looking for was at the end of the corridor, the last door on her left, and she tried not to think of how if she were in trouble, there’d be no one there to hear her scream. _Just like Aliens_ , her inner voice mused.

Maybe it was time to stop listening to murder podcasts while alone in creepy, dimly lit, ignored, far-flung reaches of the building.

She juggled the things in her hands – a bag full of post-it notes, highlighters, and file folders, but also her coffee, laptop, iPod – and pulled the keys she’d just been given from her pocket. It took two tries to get the key to slide in completely- she wasn’t sure whether it was tight due to not being used or a problem with humidity - but when she was finally successful, she took a deep breath, closed her eyes, pushed open the door, then reached out to flip on the light switch.

_Please don’t be covered in spiders. Please, **please** don’t be covered in spiders..._

Squinting open one eye, and then the other, Darcy directed her gaze over everything, taking a first impression of the space. There were three desks, but she only knew that because she could see their legs in the yellow-tinted lights. Their surfaces were covered in boxes. In fact, boxes were _everywhere_. They were full, and in some cases overflowing, with a mishmash of papers. She could make out dates on the sides of the boxes, and her eyes widened when she realized she was looking at _decades_ worth of random paperwork that needed to be sorted, catalogued, copied, and digitized.

“Welp,” Darcy breathed outward, her shoulders dropping, “at least I still have healthcare.”

She spent the next three hours dragging boxes from all over the room, grouping the same years together in an effort to organize what was obviously the ‘junk drawer’ of S.H.I.E.L.D.. As far as she could tell, there was no rhyme or reason to everything that’d been gathered; there was nothing _confidential_ for her to stumble across (she didn’t have the security clearance for such things), but looking at a receipt for a single glazed donut from Randy’s Donuts circa 1998, she couldn’t help but think she’d just been given busy work.

With Jane Foster’s newer, deeper, more clandestine role within S.H.I.E.L.D., Darcy knew she was lucky to even stay on the payroll. Until she _could_ get the security clearance to work with Jane, Darcy was going to do the best she could with what she’d been given. And what she’d been _given_ was a room filled with things other people hadn’t cared about. Others might have called the task tedious and boring, but Darcy found comfort in the work. She couldn’t help the Avengers fight, but she sure as shit could organize their petty cash withdrawals.

After an entire morning and afternoon spent getting organized, Darcy was left with piles of documents that could start their journey toward digitization. She felt especially accomplished at the amount of work she’d done on her first day, considering the mess she’d had before her, and as the day drew to a close, she could feel the tiredness settle into her bones. She didn’t really have a supervisor to check in with, so when her stomach began to growl and make its displeasure known, she began to gather her things.

She’d just turned off the lights and began to close the door when a flash of pink caught her eye. Darcy flipped the light back on with a frown, not remembering seeing the solo but of paper before. She dumped the stuff from her arms onto the (newly cleaned) desk top, and snatched the note from the ground. Squinting, she tried to understand the chicken scratch scrawled on it with blue ink. When she realized she was looking at an email address and password, her eyebrows shot up toward her hairline.

 _Firstly, who the hell just keeps their login information on a post-it note? Secondly, what the hell?_ The email address appeared to be ‘ _AskTheAvengers@starkmail.com_ ’ and the password was a random assortment of letters and numbers. Darcy stared at the pink note, her eyebrows furrowing, chewing on her lower lip. She wasn’t sure what to do with the information, so she stuffed the post-it into her bag and re-gathered her things. She had the weekend ahead of her, and the office filled with randomness would have to wait until Monday.

*~*~*~*~*

“No,” Darcy hummed as she pressed her phone between her shoulder and cheek, needing both hands to pull the leftover lasagna from her fridge, “there were no spiders, rodents, or whiskered beings of any kind.”

“ _Yet_ ,” Jane’s voice came from the other side of the world. “ _If it’s as dusty as you say..._ ”

“Are you _trying_ to freak me out? Because this is how you would freak me out.”

“ _I just don’t like thinking about you being down there all alone._ ”

It wasn’t hard to hear the worry in her best friend’s voice, and a flash of affection warmed Darcy’s chest. “I have my music and more than enough to keep me busy until things get pushed through so I can join you. I’ll be okay.”

“ _Well, if you’re sure you’re okay –_ ”

“I _am_ sure. The day will come when I’m called to be by your side again,” Darcy said, heavy with the majesty of the assumption, “but today is not that day.”

“ _Hmm_ ,” rumbled from Jane’s side, “ _I guess I won’t worry too much, then. Did you at least find anything interesting?”_

“Do you count twenty-year-old receipts whose ink is nearly translucent? Because I found _bunches_ of those.”

“ _I was thinking of something a bit flashier.”_

Not quite sure why, Darcy’s eyes slid to her left, glancing at her bag on the counter. It took two steps before she had the pink slip of paper in her hands. Just like before, she frowned down at it, expecting the answer of _what_ and _why_ to leap out at her, but she was disappointed. “Did you know the Avengers have a fan club?”

“ _What?_ ”

“I mean, I _think_ that’s what it is.”

“ _Not to my knowledge_.”

For Jane to admit that she didn’t know something was enough to make Darcy’s lips turn up at the corners. “I think it’s kind of cute that kids can write in and talk to their favorite heroes.”

“ _You think it’d have been publicized before._ ”

“Mmmhmmm,” Darcy hummed, slipping her plate of leftovers in the microwave and punching the buttons. “Maybe I’ll find out more about it.”

“ _I bet the answer’s buried in all those papers._ ”

The bark of laughter that broke from Darcy’s chest was heartfelt. “If it’s in those papers, it might take me years to find.”

“ _Yay job security, I guess?_ ”

The microwave beeped, Darcy’s food sizzling with all the cheese she’d added to her mother’s recipe. She took in a deep breath then let it out in a heavy sigh. “I’m going to stuff myself with carbs and then pass out in front of the TV while watching reruns of forensic files.”

“ _Just another exciting evening at the Lewis residence._ ”

“Hardyharhar,” Darcy said with a roll of her eyes. “Miss your face.”

“ _Miss yours more_.”

Darcy pressed the little red button and set her phone down, retrieving her dinner and cutting into it to cool it down. She poured herself a glass of lemonade (fresh squeezed and sugared yesterday), then hopped up on the counter, stomach already growling in anticipation. The first bite was hot, a little _too_ hot, and Darcy waved her hand in front of her face as if it would help. She waited an appropriate amount of time before taking her next bite, savoring the masterpiece that was lasagna.

She chewed in silence, finding her thoughts were still on the post-it note and its implications. There was every reason to believe that the password had been changed, that whoever was in charge of the correspondence was on top of it, but _something_ made the hair on the back of Darcy’s neck itch. She did her best to ignore it, but halfway through the second episode of the true crime show, curiosity got the best of her.

It was almost too easy to enter the log-in credentials, and she took a deep breath before hitting enter. Her eyes widened in shock when she was immediately forwarded to the email’s inbox. It was nearly impossible, but her eyes widened even further when she saw the _hundreds_ of messages sitting there, all of them unread. Perhaps it was something that had been shelved ages ago, or maybe the person who’d been in charge of it before had left S.H.I.E.L.D. and not given anyone the information they’d needed to take over. Whatever the reason, it appeared no one had touched the thing in several years.

It didn’t sit right with Darcy at all; people had been sending letters to their superheroes, but no one had received a response. She wondered what it must feel like for people to get their hopes up, expecting the person you looked up to the most to respond... but hear nothing. She took a cursory look at some of the emails, finding most of them were the stereotypical ‘you’re my hero’ type letters, predominantly written by kids. They were adorable, obviously, and all it’d have taken to respond was a signed photo and a form letter.

After what had to have been two-hundred messages, Darcy’s eyes began to cross, and she glanced up to find that she’d spent three hours scouring the mailbox. She couldn’t help but feel like some kind of voyeur. These letters hadn’t been meant for her, but it looked like she was the _only_ person who’d seen them, which seemed wrong. She knew it was impossible to expect any of the Avengers to have time to answer fan letters, but now that she _knew_ about it, Darcy couldn’t let it go. The emails deserved replies. She closed the lid of her laptop, eyes closing as she let out a sigh. “Am I seriously about to do this?” She heard a voice in her head whisper _’yessss.’_ It was the same voice that’d instructed her to apply for the internship with Jane, and considering the friendships she’d built based on the voice, she wasn’t about to buck tradition now.

However, it was too late to begin anything, and she could hear the siren’s song of her mattress. Darcy got ready for bed, glancing over at her laptop from time to time. She’d been collecting and organizing data all her life (whether it was scholarly articles during college, or building a complete set of My Little Pony horses when she was eight), and she’d just discovered an unending font of possibilities.

She wasn’t sure how she’d sleep, knowing what was awaiting her in the morning.

*~*~*~*~*

Sleep had actually been easy to slip into, especially after all the hard work she’d put into that cluttered office, and when Monday rolled around, Darcy had woken with a sense of determination. She knew she didn’t have powers, and was nowhere _near_ a superhero, but if she could make someone smile and feel good for just a moment, then it’d be worth it.

Beside, it’s not like anyone would _know_ , as there was no indication that the mailbox had even been looked at in years.

No one would know. Just little happy messages, and a gesture of appreciation. What could go wrong?

Feeling like she needed to put in some time doing what she was actually getting paid for, Darcy spent the morning continuing her organizing. She’d managed to get each year’s boxes in one place, then organized _the papers_ into piles of similar subjects. One of the desks had needed archeology tools to be coaxed out of the (what seemed like a million) papers. The desk’s drawers were exactly what Darcy expected to find; an endless trove of paper clips, pens with no ink, dried markers, salt and pepper packets, and pencils only an inch or two long. It reminded her of every cheesy office shows set in the 1970s.

As she chewed on her peanut butter and jelly sandwich, feet propped onto the desk, Darcy hummed along with her iPod, her eyes focused on her laptop. After she’d finished her lunch, she pulled her computer closer, drumming her hands over the keyboard, wrestling with herself one last time about the moral implications of answering a letter meant for someone else. If she had nefarious purposes behind the action, then it’d be a much different story. All she wanted to do was make people smile, and this seemed like a safe, satisfying way to accomplish that goal.

Darcy opened the inbox, closed her eyes, and let her finger press the down arrow. She lifted her finger then opened her eyes, deciding that randomness was the best way to determine which letters got answered first. She clicked her mouse, and read the missive.

_Dear Mr. America,  
I want to be just like you when I grow up.  
There are boys in my school who like to tease me because I’m little.  
My mom said you were little like I was before. She is helping me write this.  
How did you get so strong?  
How do I be like you?  
Sincerely,  
Mike, age seven  
P.S. my favorite color is blue. What’s yours?_

The tug on Darcy’s heartstrings made her place a hand to her chest, mouth falling open with a sympathetic gasp. It was just a few lines, but she already felt like she knew so much about the boy. She’d read up on Steve Rogers, and had even gone to the museum to see the exhibit about him and the Howling Commandos, so she knew exactly how ‘little’ the blond had been before he’d become a super hero. Darcy couldn’t be sure that he’d experienced any kind of teasing because of it, but she couldn’t imagine it was easy for the boy from Brooklyn.

She spent the next twenty minutes coming up with a reply that answered Mike’s questions, attempting to take on the affect of the star-spangled hero. Staring at it for another few minutes, Darcy’s finger hovered over the ‘send’ button. Once she pressed it, there would be no turning back. Asking the universe for help, she closed her eyes, let the air out of her lungs, then hit the enter key.

_Mike,  
Thank you so much for your letter, and I am so sorry it took this long to reply. The rest of the Avengers and I are hard at work keeping people safe, but I showed them your letter, and they wanted me to say hello on their behalf._

_I am so sorry that there are boys at school who tease you. Your mom was absolutely right. I **was** very little before becoming Captain America, and like you, I had to deal with my fair share of bullies. But both you and I know something **now** that might take them years to learn: it is not the size of the **person** that matters, but the size of their **heart**._

_It sounds like you have a very big heart, Mike, and that’s what makes a good person **great**._

_(My friend, Ant-Man, wanted you to know that being small is really, **really** cool.)_

_I think you are already very, very strong. If you want to be like any of the Avengers, you should look for people who need help. This doesn’t always mean fighting aliens and monsters. It can mean comforting someone when they’re scared, or helping someone cross the street, or volunteering at your local animal shelter. There are heroes everywhere if you look hard enough. Doctors. Nurses. Teachers. Firemen. Garbage men. Anyone who is working to make the world a better place is a hero._

_Heroes come in all shapes and sizes, Mike, and I think you’re already on your way to becoming one._

_Sincerely,  
Steve Rogers – Captain America_

_P.S. Blue is a very good favorite color, and it’s mine, too._

Was Steve Rogers’ favorite color blue? Darcy had no idea, but she liked the thought regardless. Was it the most eloquent reply? Probably not, but she had a feeling that the seven-year-old (now a nine-year old) wouldn’t mind. She hadn’t given any false information (if you don’t count the favorite color assumption) and for all she knew, the reply would never be seen in the first place.

Leaning back in the chair, Darcy blinked up at the ceiling and its dusty florescent light, stomach flipping with something that felt half like happiness and half like dread. Could she get _in trouble_ for what she’d done? She wasn’t a lawyer, but writing notes to small children seemed like the smallest felony mail tampering she’d ever heard of. She thought about calling Jane and telling her about it, but with her best friend’s new role in S.H.I.E.L.D., she figured plausible deniability was necessary.

Darcy itched to jump to the next message and answer it, too, but she knew she needed to go slow. The last thing she wanted was to misrepresent the heroes she was channeling, so she had to tiptoe carefully. One response a day would be enough. She hoped.

**BONUS!** Do _you_ have a question for the Avengers and are looking for a pick-me-up from your favorite super heroes? Feel free to email them at AskTheAvengers616@gmail.com!!


	2. Our King

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something a little different this time...

Chadwick Boseman spent the past four years blessing us with his talent and artistry, starring in some of the biggest movies ever, all while battling colon cancer. What he did while sick and in pain is unimaginable, and only speaks to the man's passion and dedication.

The joy he brought, the quiet strength, the emotion...

So, in honor of the man, I wanted to share some encouraging words from his own tongue.

He will be unimaginably missed.

Let his words lift you up.

Rest in Peace and Power, Chadwick.

<3

"I don’t know what your future is, but if you are willing to take the harder way, the more complicated one, the one with more failures at first than successes, the one that’s ultimately proven to have more victory, more glory, then you will not regret it. **_This is your time."_**

"Fearlessness means taking the first step, even if you don’t know where it will take you. It means knowing that you _reveal your character when you stand apart_ , more than when you stand with the crowd."

"I think you realize how much you need to have people that you love. It’s not as much about them loving you – **it’s about you needing to love people**."

 _"So, savor the taste of your triumphs today._ Don't just swallow the moment whole without digesting what has actually happened here. Look down over what you conquered and appreciate what God has brought you through."

"Purpose crosses disciplines. Purpose is an essential element of you. It is the reason you are on the planet at this particular time in history. _Your very existence is wrapped up in the things you are here to fulfill._ Whatever you choose for a career path, remember, the struggles along the way are only meant to shape you for your purpose."

"Oftentimes, the mind is flooded with realizations that were, for some reason, harder to come to when you were at a lower elevation. At this moment, most of you need some realizations because right now you have some big decisions to make. Right now, I urge you in your breath, in your eyes, in your consciousness -- invest in the importance of this moment and cherish it. **_Now, this is your time. The light of new realizations shines on you today."_**


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint Barton is ghostwritten by Darcy Lewis, who speaks of loss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello you lovely people. I hope this week's installment brings you solace, if you're looking for it.  
> 

  


_My mother passed recently. She had cancer, and was in pain, and I’ve been told over and over to look at is as a blessing. I can’t make myself see it like that. How do you deal with loss?  
-Andrew_

_Andrew,  
I am very sorry for your loss. Losing someone is never easy, no matter what the hallmark greeting cards say, and the way you show your grief is up to you. There are some cases where death is a blessing, but more often than not, death is just death. Cruel, and overwhelming, and utterly devoid of closure._

_I’ve lost more than my fair share of people. That pain never goes away. It’s like an ache, a never ending slideshow of good days and bad days, a dullness that become sharpened by memories._

_Let yourself feel that loss. Let it take you to your knees. Don’t ignore it. Don’t push it aside. Waves beat against the beach every day, creeping closer and closer to the shoreline, but when the night comes and washes it all away, you’ll wake up and see a whole new landscape._

_Feel sadness. Feel anger. Feel regret. **Feeling** things means you’re still alive. Take your memories and use them to move forward, to laugh, to heal._

_You might always feel like something is missing._

_Make sure it isn’t you._

_That’s what your loved ones would want._

_-Clint Barton_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ^^^


	4. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darcy speaks about being brightness in the darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another week has come and gone, and these thoughts have been heavy on my mind. If they bring you any kind of hope, then I've done my job.
> 
> <3<3<3

Darcy’s toe tapped relentlessly against the concrete floor, eyes closed and face turned up toward the ceiling. She swiveled slightly from side to side, the office chair squeaking as she did so. She’d read the latest email over and over, unsure how to proceed. Since she’d started this little project, she’d tried to keep her answers light and universal. She didn’t want to put out a bad image of the superheroes she was ~~impersonating~~ channeling. This was made infinitely harder by the fact that the letters were a product of the time; the world seemed to be in perpetual free fall, chaos and anarchy in the government, protests in the streets, and the letters that’d begun to be sent to the Ask Avengers email reflected that hardness.

She knew that _any_ response would be appreciated, but she didn’t want to just answer. She wanted to _heal_ , to comfort, to say the words that someone so desperately needed to hear. She wanted to have an impact, wanted to put hope out into the world like the rest of the super friends. She couldn’t wrestle giant beasts or carry a nuke into space. She didn’t have the power to move things with her mind, and couldn't pull from the extensive spy training she’d practically been a part of since birth. She wasn’t a mutant, couldn’t bench press a semi truck, and the last time she’d checked, she couldn’t turn into a giant green rage monster (though it was a close thing, depending on the time of the month).

 _Words_ , though. Words were a weight she could carry.

Letting out a trumpet of air, and deciding that all she could do was her best, she pulled her chair back toward the desk and lowered her fingers to the keyboard.

_Everything is horrible. It’s hard to drag myself out of bed in the morning. How do you keep going? – Norrine_

_**_

_Norrine,_

_Firstly, thank you for your letter. I know it isn’t hard to admit things are difficult, but you did it, and that makes you brave._

_I have a friend. This friend took care of her mother in the late stages of Alzheimer's. She would tell me how tired she was, how emotionally crippling it was to see this entirely other person looking at her from behind of her mother’s blue eyes. Why did she continue to take care of her, someone has asked, when there were homes and hospitals for people suffering from the same disease? Why did she put herself through it?_

_She shook her head, a small smile on her lips. ‘It’s hard,’ she started, ‘and I get why other people might not be able to. I’m a nurse, so I’ve got more experience. And she’s my mother. She took care of me when I was little, gave me a home, and a life, and a family. Most of the time are bad days, days that we struggle, days that she slaps at me, and says she doesn’t’ know who I am, that I’m hurting her, that I’m torturing her. She’ll say things to me that are so utterly devastating that I sob myself to sleep at night. All of that pain, all of that hurt and agony? It’s worth it for those tiny, fleeting moments when I can see my mother refill her eyes, when her shoulders rock back and she becomes the strong, beautiful woman I’ve always seen her as. She pulls me to her, tells me how much she loves me, how proud she is of everything I’ve accomplished, and kisses me on the forehead like she did so many nights when I was growing up. Those miniscule seconds with my mom are worth everything else.’_

_People like Susan are what keep me going. People who see the darkness in the world and tell it ‘no’. And when the world doesn’t listen, they say ‘hell no’ and demand better. Who fight against pain, and hurt, and oppression. They stand up for the little guy, and aren’t afraid to yell when they see injustices. Teachers. Doctors. Nurses. Garbage Men. The ones who do the hard work with a smile on their face and a helpful hand up from the dirt when it’s needed. I have a cape. They have the **real** power._

_And it’s in you, too. That power. The ability to create brightness and light. All it takes is one small spark, the tiniest of flames, and that compassion can grow into a fire that can’t be put out. Start a riot in that heart of yours, and you’ll be able to see that orange glow in others’ eyes, kindred spirits who are stumbling in the dark but don’t mind the skinned knees. Reach out your hand, and you’ll be surprised how quickly another grips it._

_The world is dark right now, you’re absolutely right. But let me tell you a little secret:_

_**You** are the light it needs._

Shine brightly.

_Your friend,_

_Carol Danvers_   
_A.K.A. Captain Marvel_

Darcy knew Captain Marvel was, essentially, the new kid on the block, but from what she’d been able to read about Captain Danvers, she’d battled through the ranks of the air force, during a time when female fighter pilots were just a pipe dream. She’d gone missing, but made a miraculous reappearance (something that seemed to happen pretty frequently lately, for whatever reason. Darcy liked to think everyone knew a story like the one she’d told; she’d watched her mom work long hours at the hospital, only to come home and take care of grandma. She wasn’t sure where her mother had drawn all that strength from, but if her story (told through a pseudo-surrogate) could help someone else? It’d be worth it.

Like it always did, Darcy’s stomach jumped as her index finger hovered over the mouse. She let out a deep breath before she clicked the ‘send’ button.

**Author's Note:**

> You may feel like there is no hope in the world, that you don’t matter, that no one would care if you left the world.  
> It’s not true. Depression is a liar.  
> You are _**loved**_.  
> You are _**worthy.**_  
>  You are _**enough.**_  
>  It is not weakness to seek help. It takes incredible strength to reach out for a hand to hold. I know everything is shrouded in blackness - the world around us is on literal fire and filled with fear – but the light will shine again.  
> It’s worth waiting for.  
>  _You’re_ worth waiting for.  
> <3  
>   
> You can find me on [The Tumbles](http://goddessvicky.tumblr.com/) and [The Tweets](https://twitter.com/Goddessvicky)!


End file.
